John Burt Nichols

Burt was survived by his three kids—Brian, Shae, and Suni—who learned early on that life isn’t about doing things the easy way, it’s about doing them the Burt way. He’s also survived by five grandchildren, each of whom carries a little bit of his grit, his grin, and his unshakable belief that confidence alone can fix most problems.

If Burt were standing here right now, he wouldn’t want tears. He’d want a nod, maybe a respectful smirk, and someone quietly saying, “Yeah… that guy was something.”

Burt was a veteran, which means he already earned the right to be tough before breakfast. He flew planes—because of course he did. The sky wasn’t a limit; it was just another place Burt decided to operate. While the rest of us were looking up thinking, “Wow,” Burt was thinking, “Alright, let’s see what this thing can do.”

On the ground, Burt dominated the pool table like it owed him money. Chalk the cue. Eye the shot. Sink it. Walk away like explosions were happening behind him—but they weren’t allowed to distract him because focus is focus.

Then there was the Trans Am Firebird. That car wasn’t transportation—it was a statement. It said, “Yes, I’ve arrived. Yes, I’m cool. And no, I will not be explaining myself.” Burt didn’t drive that car. He deployed it.

Basketball? Burt played it the way he did everything else—hard, competitive, and with the quiet belief that hustle beats youth every time. He may not have been the fastest, but he was absolutely the most convinced he could still take you.

Burt lived with a little Rocky in his heart, a little Rambo in his posture, and just enough Top Gun swagger to make you wonder if he owned aviator sunglasses—even when he wasn’t wearing them.

But beneath all that macho movie energy was a man who loved deeply. He showed up. He provided. He taught by example. And he made life more fun just by being unapologetically himself.

So today we don’t say goodbye—we say mission complete.

Burt Nichols lived full throttle, no brakes, cue the soundtrack. And somewhere out there, you just know he’s lining up the perfect shot, revving an engine, or pushing a plane a little faster than recommended… smiling, because that’s exactly how he liked it.

Rest easy, Burt.

You’ve earned the slow-motion walk into the sunset!